The Talented Mr Ripley continued
by aims80
Summary: **COMPLETED** Tom is haunted by thoughts of Dickie and what he did. In an attempt to get rid of the unwanted thoughts he travels to Ireland, but will that make it any better? Please R&R.


[A/N. Basically this story is yet another school assignment I did back in high school. We were asked to write another chapter from a book we liked and I picked "The Talented Mr. Ripley." I wrote it in year ten, so you'll have to excuse it if it's not as good as it could be. It also occurred to me whilst reading it over that it could _possibly_ be seen as slightly "slashy", however anyone who has read the novel and/or seen the movie would know that it was implied throughout that Tom was gay. Anyway enjoy it regardless.]

In the novel: It has to be noted here that in the novel Tom does _not_ kill Peter. When they part Peter says to Tom that he is going home and that Tom is more than welcome to go and stay at his place in Ireland. In the novel the police then find Dickie's suitcase and clothes and decide to check them for fingerprints. Tom gets nervous at this and promptly leaves for Greece. Upon disembarking in Greece Tom finds in the paper that the only fingerprints found where those of Dickie, and that the search for Dickie is a futile one the police won't be continuing. Full of relief he checks at the American Express to see whether there are any letters for a "Thomas Ripley" only to find one from the Greenleaf's in response to Tom's forged note from Dickie, which tells him that they will honor Dickie's wishes and Dickie's trust fund and other properties will be made over to Tom. And the novel ends there. "The Talented Mr. Ripley" Chapter 31. ****

I.

Tom sighed as the clerk at the desk took a long time in checking him in. Tapping his fingers on the desk he played the beat of a jazz tune he'd heard in Italy as he waited. The jazz tune reminded him of Italy, and Dickie and all that had happened and Tom bit his lip unhappily. How had it all gone so wrong? He hadn't wanted to kill Dickie, he'd loved Dickie! "How you spell Reepley?" The clerk asked for the second time in as many minutes.

Tom swallowed his impatience and spelt his last name again. The clerk typed out a few more things and then looked up at him. "How long you be staying Mr. Reepley?" She asked him. 

Tom opened his mouth to tell her that he would be staying indefinitely when a voice spoke up in the back of his mind. "Only as long as it takes for me to get a boat to Ireland." He said, his own words surprising even him. He honestly hadn't been planning on going to see Peter! Thinking back Tom remembered only too well his thoughts during his last conversation with Peter: _"I'm going home at the end of May, you know. If you'd like to come along and stay at my place in Ireland, you're more than welcome. It's deadly quiet there, I can assure you." Tom glanced at him. Peter had told him about his old Irish castle and had shown him pictures of it. Some quality of his relationship with Dickie flashed across his mind like the memory of a nightmare, like a pale and evil ghost. It was because the same thing could happen with Peter, he thought. Peter, the upright, unsuspecting, naïve, generous good fellow- except that he didn't look like Peter…. "Thanks," Tom said. "I better stay by myself for a while longer. I miss my friend Dickie, you know. I miss him terribly." He was suddenly near tears. He could remember Dickie's smiles that first day that they began to get along, when he had confessed to Dickie his father had sent him. _

The clerk raised a quizzical eyebrow and then glanced over at a sheet of paper with something listed on it. "Boat to Ireland- tomorrow morning." She told Tom.

"Well then, I'll only be staying the one night." Tom said, wondering whether going to Ireland to see Peter was entirely prudent. But if there was one person who had ever made Tom feel safe and happy it was Peter. Peter wouldn't believe any of the lies bound to be circulating about him. The clerk finished typing out a few things, gave Tom something to sign, and then handed him his room key. "Enjoy your stay Mr. Reepley." She said, and Tom nodded to her, and went up to his room. Even though he'd soon be receiving all of Dickie's money for the time being he was on a budget, and the room was smaller than he'd grown used to during his time as Dickie. He put his luggage on the bed and then walked over to the window and looked outside. To his uncultured eye Greece looked a lot like Italy, and for a brief moment Tom considered returning but the thought didn't last long. Even though the papers had declared that there was no hope now of finding Dickie there were too many people in Italy who might recognise him as Dickie and it wasn't safe. Besides that the memories of Dickie, and what could have been would haunt him even more there than they would anywhere else! No, going to Peter's was the best plan for the moment. 

Taking his wallet and keys Tom left the hotel and went down to the docks. To his relief the four policemen he'd seen earlier were no longer there. Nonetheless when Tom booked his passage to Ireland he used a name he hadn't used since New York, Edward Ramsey. He then wandered around looking for a post office. Eventually he found one where he wrote out a quick telegram for Peter: "Peter. Stop. Will be arriving in Ireland on the 8th on a boat named "Pacifiny". Stop. It will be good to see you again. Stop. Tom." At the counter he had trouble getting the man to understand what he wanted, however eventually it was sorted out and the telegram would be sent to Peter warning him of Tom's coming arrival. After what seemed like an emotionally draining few days Tom wasn't in the mood for the nightlife of Athens, and after a quick meal went to bed. But before he went to bed he couldn't resist checking the Italian papers he'd picked up when the boat docked one more time, after all- what if he'd read it wrong? What if they were on his track? _"The police ascertained a few days ago that the fingerprints found on the suitcases and the paintings are all the same as the fingerprints found in Greenleaf's apartment in Rome. Therefore it has been assumed that Greenleaf deposited the suitcases and paintings himself…..in any case, it is futile to search for "Richard Greenleaf" any longer, because, even if he is alive, he has not his "Richard Greenleaf" passport. _

****

II.

"Ticket sir? Ticket?" The porter asked the next morning and Tom pulled out his ticket to show him. The porter barely even glanced at it, and nodded for him to go up the gangplank. Instead of going to his cabin Tom went to the railing on the top deck where he could look down at the docks. For a moment he thought he saw a policeman on his way towards the boat, but whoever it was disappeared in the crowd and Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He had told himself countless times last night that everything was over. The Italian police had decided that Dickie had committed suicide, a view shared by the Greenleafs who were back in America. The only one to think differently, Marge, was also home. As long as he stayed away from people who thought he was Dickie he would be just fine. Marge! Just thinking about her made Tom's blood boil. He remembered all too well the conversation he and Dickie had in Mongie: _"…And another thing I want to say, but clearly…I'm not queer. I don't know if you have the idea I am or not." "Queer?" Tom smiled faintly. "I never thought you were queer." Dickie started to say something else, and didn't. He straightened up, the ribs showing in his dark chest. "Well Marge thinks you are." "Why?" Tom felt the blood go out of his face. He kicked off Dickie's second shoe feebly, and set the pair in the closet. "Why would she? What have I ever done?" He felt faint. Nobody had ever said it outright to him, not in this way. "It's just the way you act," Dickie said in a growling tone, and went out of the door. Tom hurried himself back into his shorts. He had been half concealing himself behind the closet door, though he had his underwear on. Just because Dickie liked him, Tom thought, Marge had launched her filthy accusations of him at Dickie. _Tom shook his head, trying to rid himself of the unwelcome thoughts, and as the boat left Greece he left his spot at the railing and wandered around the decks, looking at the various types of people there and wondering what their stories were? 

Like on the boat from Italy to Greece Tom soon befriended an elderly woman who was travelling to Ireland to see her daughter and son-in-law. Her daughter was expecting, the woman confided to Tom, and there were some concerns that the birth wasn't going to be all that easy. Unlike Mrs. Cartwright however, this woman had no paralysis in her leg. In fact she was as sprightly as a woman half her age, and she challenged Tom to various deck games on occasions, usually beating him easily. Tom smiled and told her he wasn't really a game type of person in response to her good-natured teasing. Back in his cabin later that night he pondered his comment: In reality hadn't his sojourn as Dickie involved a game? A game of murder and playing at being someone else and hoping not to get caught? In fact, Tom thought slowly, if he was going to be completely accurate his life had always involved a game of some sort. When had he ever just been plain old Thomas Ripley? Maybe it was time to begin. 

****

III.

"Tom old boy!" Peter called as Tom disembarked from the boat. "Delighted you could come. How was your trip? What happened to Greece and Australia?"

Tom smiled, feeling instantly more comfortable than he had in days. "I decided to put it off for a bit." He said. "And I've always wanted to see Ireland." 

Peter smiled. "Well don't worry, I'll make sure you see it all. Funnily enough just after I got your telegram I also got a letter from Marge. She's back in the States now, but I don't think she's coping very well. She says she hasn't written any more of her book since she left because all she can think of is Dickie. Damn him, if he really were alive I'd kill him myself. Marge adored him and he broke her heart. And I always thought he loved her as much as she loved him!" He said angrily, as they began to walk towards the small shed which served as the offices for the boat company.

Tom looked thoughtful. He remembered his first day in Mongie, and when he was having lunch with Dickie and Marge: _Neither of them urged him to stay. Dickie walked with him to the front gate. Marge was staying on. Tom wondered if Dickie and Marge were having an affair, one of those old, faute de mieux affairs that wouldn't necessarily be obvious from the outside, because neither was very enthusiastic. Marge was in love with Dickie, Tom thought, but Dickie couldn't have been more indifferent to her if she had been the fifty year old Italian maid sitting there._ Later on he had learnt that cared about Marge, although Tom knew Marge was certainly a lot fonder of Dickie than he was of her. He remembered only too well the way he'd felt when he first saw the two of them kissing, confirming that the relationship wasn't exactly a platonic one: _Tom stopped as Marge's window came into view: Dickie's arm was around her waist. Dickie was kissing her, little pecks on her cheek, smiling at her…Now Marge's face was tipped straight up to Dickie's, as if she were fairly lost in ecstasy. _And then there was the time, not long after when Tom had asked Dickie how he felt about Marge- 

"Tom?" Peter asked, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you there Tom?"

Tom laughed, a little self-consciously. "Sorry, I was thinking about what you said and remembering a conversation Dickie and I had on the exact topic. I asked him whether he was in love with Marge, and he said no, but he felt sorry for her, and he cared about her. He admitted they'd had some good times together. He also admitted he knew she was in love with him." 

Peter looked as though he was going to say something, but then instead he said, "Well you better show the people here the paperwork, and I'll go and organise for your luggage to be put into my car okay?"

Tom nodded, and went into the small shed. Unlike in Greece the people here did more than just give his paperwork a perfunctory glance. In fact they wanted to know how long he was planning on staying in the country and indeed how he would support himself. With a frown Tom explained that he wasn't sure how long he was staying but that he would not be putting any drain on their economy since he was about to get a rather large inheritance. Further, he added, he was staying at the Smith-Kingsley castle as a guest. The interrogation over Tom was free to go through the shed and outside. Coming out into the bright afternoon sunlight he squinted looking for Peter. 

"Tom! Over here!" Peter called, waving from the side of a nice black car. 

Tom walked over, and they got in the car, as Peter explained that this place was about an hour's drive. "But," He added with a slight smile. "Like I told you it's very quiet and private. When my parents both died in an automobile accident a few years back I got the castle, and my sister got the house in the city. We both share the London townhouse."

Tom nodded, but didn't know what to say. He got the impression that there was something on Peter's mind, ever since he'd been about to comment on Dickie and Marge's relationship but hadn't. Peter was driving, and his face was concentrating on the road impassive. A terrible thought went through Tom's head: did Peter think he'd done something to Dickie? Had Marge said something like that in her letter, and was Peter going to comment on the special relationship Tom and Dickie shared?

"Are you all right Tom?" Peter asked, jolting Tom from his thoughts. "You look pale."

"Just feeling a bit sick…" Tom lied.

"Open the window for some fresh air. The country air will make you feel better in no time." Peter advised, turning his face back to the road. Tom did as he suggested, and took a few deep breaths willing himself to calm down. How could he suspect Peter of thinking that? Peter was probably the only one who would never think that of him! Nonetheless his curiosity got the better of him, and he casually asked whether Marge had mentioned him in her letter.

Peter didn't look at him as he replied. "She asked whether I knew what you were doing now, where you were living, but that was about it." He said.

'He's lying!' Tom thought his heart racing. 'She said something more, I know it.'

"Interestingly enough I also ran into Jennifer Miles- Freddie's sister- the other day." Peter continued. "The family are still trying to get answers from the Italian police who are insisting that Dickie killed Freddie. Of course anyone with half a brain knows that didn't happen. For a start Dickie and Freddie were best friends, and secondly Freddie is far too big for Dickie to have killed." 

Tom thought back to Freddie's death: _Freddie came back into the room. "Listen, would you mind telling-" The curved edge of the ash-tray hit the middle of his head. Freddie looked dazed. Then his knees bent and he went down like a bull hit between the eyes with a hammer. Tom kicked the door shut. He slammed the edge of the ash-tray into the back of Freddie's neck. He hit the neck again and again, terrified that Freddie might be only pretending and that one of his huge arms might suddenly circle his legs and pull him down. _"According to the police, if Dickie wasn't completely sane at the time he could have had a lot of strength in his rage." Tom said, remembering the conversation he'd had with one of the police members.

"Do you think he did it then?" Peter asked, shocked.

"I don't know." Tom said, looking unhappy. "I don't know anything anymore. Sometimes I think Dickie was terrible- he killed Freddie, he ran off and hurt Marge, he committed suicide. And then other times I remember him as he was, how much fun we had, how much I- well how good a friend he was to me." 

Peter sighed, and pushed a lock of his black hair out of his face. "We're near the castle now." He said, changing the subject, not so subtly. Tom craned his neck to get the first glimpse of the castle. It _did_ look old, he thought, but it also looked very well maintained. Sounding somewhat mechanical Peter pointed out certain things- such as the stables, the grounds and other such things. Once inside Peter had a servant show Tom to his room and told him he'd be in the living room when he was ready to come down. Tom obediently followed the servant to his room. As he walked along he noticed the rich carpet on the floor, and the many paintings lining the hallway. Eventually the servant stopped and opened a door and Tom peered in behind him. The room was huge, with a large four poster bed dominating it. The windows were full length and the heavy drapes were pulled back allowing the occupant a view of the estate and surrounding area. Tom went into the ensuite bathroom and splashed some water on his face. 

****

IV.

Peter was drinking a scotch when Tom entered the room and he offered Tom one, but Tom refused. "Well at least take a seat then." Peter said, and Tom sat down slowly. "So you didn't like Greece then? I was surprised to hear you left so suddenly- and especially when the police were checking Dickie's things for fingerprints." 

"I was sick of the place, I needed a change." Tom lied, and then he added "And it had too many bad memories for me."

Peter looked sympathetic now. "Yes, it would." He agreed. "Look Tom, I probably shouldn't say this, but I'm going to. I know how much you cared about Dickie. I don't know what happened to Dickie, but I don't think I ever will know. Tragedies like these happen, and they're never completely sorted out down to the last little fact." 

Tom wished that he had agreed to the offer of a drink after all. "Even though some people have different suspicions." He said slowly.

Peter looked surprised, but recovered his poise enough to nod. "Well yes, the Greenleafs are back in America thinking that Dickie is dead. They don't believe that he'd be living in hiding with no money, no passport, nothing. Marge seems to think that there is no way Dickie could kill himself, but nonetheless she thinks he is dead." He said.

Tom felt his heart skip a beat. What Marge thought was that _he_ had something to do with Dickie's death, but she'd never had the guts to mention it to him directly. He remembered being worried when Dickie's father was there that Marge would think of something, or say something, which would put him directly in the line of suspicion. 

"You're looking pale again Tom." Peter said, looking at him carefully. "Maybe you should lie down for awhile before dinner? For that matter skip dinner if you're not feeling up to it."

Tom nodded. "You're right. I think I'll go up to my room for a lie down." He _did_ feel a bit sick now that Peter mentioned it. 

"If there's anything you need let me know." Peter called after him.

Once outside the room Tom hesitated and leant against the wall for a moment while his heart began to beat more normally. He took a few deep breaths and then started up the large staircase towards his room. Walking down the hallway something caught his eye and he stopped and turned around. It was a study, and Tom walked in slowly. He knew he shouldn't be snooping in Peter's private things but he wondered whether the letter from Marge was in there. There was a large oak desk near the window, and Tom hurried over to it. There were various papers on top, and Tom went straight to the top draw. Sure enough this was where Peter kept his letters. On the top was one in which Tom recognised as Marge's writing and he quickly took it out to read:

Dear Peter, __

Thank you for your kind words. I cannot keep on hoping that Dickie is alive since he made it perfectly clear before that he didn't want anything to do with me. How strange was it that the only person he wanted to see was Tom? He didn't even know Tom until he appeared in Mongie with instructions from Dickie's parents to bring him home! I can't help but feel that Tom isn't who he says he is. Dickie swore he didn't remember him at all. I also can't help but feel, Peter, as if Tom has got something to do with what happened to Dickie. I don't know how, nor in what capacity, but Tom Ripley is somehow responsible for Dickie's death, for I am now convinced that Dickie is dead. He wouldn't hurt everyone like this. 

I read, with some concern, in your letter how you had invited Tom to come to Ireland to visit you. Peter, I must advise you against this. I know you like Tom well enough and think he is a perfectly likeable chap, but that's all just an act. I remember the look in his eyes when I found Dickie's rings in his place. It was so cold, I honestly thought that he was going to do something to me. That was when I realised that he had a part in Dickie's death. Of course then he made up some excuse about how Dickie had given him the rings, but I was not convinced. There is no reason on this earth why Dickie would do that, and Tom's excuse was incredibly flimsy. When I broached the subject with Dickie's father and with Mr. McCarron they both thought it was incredibly unlikely. But I know the truth Peter, and I know you do too. Remember what you said to me when I was leaving? You said that if Tom had done something sooner or later he'd slip up? Well I don't want you to get hurt trying to discover the truth. Be careful Peter and don't let Tom into your house for heavens sake!

Yours fondly,

Marge." 

Tom felt his hands begin to shake as he read the letter. So Marge had told Peter she thought he had killed Dickie, and even more shocking was the fact that she and Peter had clearly discussed this together. Did this mean that Peter's invitation to Tom was not as friendly as he thought? Did it mean that Peter was going to try to get information out of him? Tom didn't want to believe it since he liked Peter so much, but the evidence was right under his nose. Tom put the letter back and went on to his room. Once in there he paced around the room thinking about the whole thing. Why didn't things ever just work out for him? He had thought coming to Ireland to see Peter would put the past behind him and make him feel better. He was even going to become the "real" Tom Ripley and stop playing games. But now? Well now he had no choice- he couldn't get out of the game now. 

****

V.

Tom skipped dinner that night, but he wasn't asleep, and he wasn't lying down like Peter thought. Instead he was awake and writing. When the clock in his room struck ten he got up, and checked the letters through again before leaving them on his bed where they were bound to be found. Then he went downstairs hoping Peter would still be in the living room. He wasn't and Tom cursed under his breath. Did that mean he'd have to look all over this huge castle to find him? He suddenly realised that it was entirely possible that Peter was in bed now, or at the very least in his bedroom. The servant had pointed it out on the way up to Tom's room, and Tom now made his way back there. The door was shut, but there was a light coming from under it, so Peter was still up. Tom took a deep breath and knocked.

"Who is it?" Peter called. 

"It's Tom. Can I come in?" Tom called back.

There was the sound of bedclothes rustling and then Peter called out "Come in."

Tom went in, looking around as he did so. Impossible as it had seemed Peter's room was even bigger than Tom's! Peter was in bed with a book, and he looked at Tom with worry. "Are you all right Tom?" He asked.

"What?" Tom asked confused. 

"Your sickness." Peter explained. "I thought perhaps you were coming in to tell me you weren't feeling better and needed something."

"Oh, right, the sickness." Tom said. "No, I feel fine now thanks Peter. Can I sit down?"

Peter shrugged and moved his feet so Tom could sit on the end of his bed. "I just couldn't sleep." Tom lied. "I was thinking about Dickie again."

"It must be hard on you." Peter said sympathetically. "Almost as hard as it is on Marge."

Tom frowned. "Marge?" He spat. "I don't see why she should be so unhappy. She knew Dickie wasn't in love with her."

Peter didn't respond. He was looking at Tom thoughtfully instead. 

"Peter- tell me the truth, do you think I had something to do with Dickie's death?" Tom asked, his eyes staring straight into Peter's. 

Peter swallowed hard, and then shook his head. "I don't think you would do that. I get the impression you care about Dickie too much to have done something to hurt him." He told Tom.

Tom felt his face pale. After reading that letter he knew that Peter was lying, and it made him even angrier about the whole thing. "Peter don't lie to me." He said. "I read the letter from Marge."

Peter's face paled too now. "Tom, I don't know what you think, but I never thought you'd done something. Marge might, but I don't. Why would I have let you come here if I thought you were responsible for Dickie's death?" 

"I didn't mean to kill Dickie." Tom said with a sigh. "It was all an accident." And then he began to tell the shocked Peter about the day on the boat: How he'd brought the oar down on Dickie's head, and how Dickie had yelled "Hey!" at him and looked at him in a mixture of surprise and anger, and how Tom had brought the oar down on his head again. And then Dickie had fallen onto the floor of the boat and Tom had hit him three times again on the side of the neck. And then he'd sliced at Dickie's forehead and a splash of blood slowly came where the oar had scraped.

"Stop Tom!" Peter begged. "Don't tell me this. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Tom explained. "It's about to be game over. I don't want to play anymore."

"Play?" Peter asked confused and he reached forward to take Tom's shoulder. "Play what Tom?"

"Life." Tom said with a sigh. "All my life I've been someone else, and then this, the game with Dickie was the worst. No matter where I go, nor what I do, Dickie is always going to be there in my imagination and I'll never forget what I did to him." 

"If you loved him why did you do it?" Peter asked.

Tom was shocked to hear the love word from someone else, but he didn't hesitate to explain. "Love has nothing to do with it. I love you, but that's not going to stop me doing what I'm going to do." He said.

Peter didn't ask him what he was going to do because he already had a fair idea by the fact that Tom had reached into his pocket to draw out a gun. "I bought it in Italy, but I had no intention of ever using it. But tonight I'm going to use it twice."

Peter's eyes widened as he realised the implications of what Tom was saying. Not only was Tom going to kill him, but he was also going to kill himself. That's what he had meant by "game over" Peter realised. And he also realised, as Tom leveled the gun at him, that there was nothing he could do to stop it now. In a moment both he and Tom would be dead.

"I promise I'll be quick." Tom assured Peter. "I don't want you to suffer."

And he was quick. The gunshot echoed throughout the room, and Tom closed his eyes briefly, scared of what he might see. But he'd been a good shot, and the only way he could tell Peter was dead was from the hole in the middle of his forehead. Nonetheless the pain of seeing Peter dead was as bad as the pain had been when he killed Dickie and he hurriedly put the gun to his own forehead, and pulled the trigger. 


End file.
